


Summer

by democritus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe, Circus, F/M, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/democritus/pseuds/democritus
Summary: Teresa Lisbon is fresh out of high school, more tired than any eighteen year old should be.  One night at the circus she meets Patrick Jane, young, egotistical, and adventurous. At first she hates him, but soon she has no choice, but to call him her friend.*Basically they’re teenagers who meet in a universe without Angela or Red John.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

“You should leave” Her father said from his armchair in the corner of the room. He smelled like cheap whiskey and Marlboros and Teresa grimaced when he pressed a wad of cash into her hand. 

“Take the boys out and do something fun”, he said. A sad smile stretched over his face. 

Teresa sat down on the arm of the sofa across from him. “Don’t you want to come with us? We could stop by Al’s, get some pizza?” He shook his head slowly and she rose from her seat, exasperated.

This ‘going out’ was becoming a Friday night tradition in the Lisbon household, one that Teresa knew involved hard liquor and destruction of property on her father’s end. In a few hours, she would be greeted with a living room full of empty, amber bottles, but for now, they could all pretend everything was fine. 

A thud sounded from upstairs and Teresa looked over to see Jimmy, running down the stairs, cackling, closely followed by his older brother armed with a spray bottle. 

“Teresa, save me!” Jimmy exclaimed, flinging himself onto the sofa. Tommy pumped the bottle, spraying both of his siblings with water. 

“Alright, that’s enough”, she smiled, grabbing Tommy’s spray bottle. 

“Stan home?”, she asked when Jimmy stood up. 

“Nah”, Tommy replied shrugging, “I think he’s at work”. 

“More like with his girlfriend”, Jimmy snorted. The boys cackled and Teresa grinned, “Guess that’s his loss then”.

She could do this. She could pretend everything was okay, if only for a few hours. 

She sighed before grabbing her denim jacket off a hook by the door and tossing two faded Chicago Cubs hoodies to the boys.

“What’re we doing?”, Jimmy asked, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. 

“I dunno”, she replied, fingering her car keys and pulling open the door. “I figured we could just drive around for a while until we find something good”. 

For the Lisbon family, something good usually equated to half an hour of messing around in the batting cages before retiring for hamburgers at Teresa’s favorite diner. 

“Don’t be back too late”, their father called as the trio jostled onto the front porch. 

“Bye dad” the boys replied, already fighting over who got shotgun. 

Teresa hoped their father passed out before they got home. She hated to see him drunk, and hated it even more when the boys did. She sighed before trotting down the stairs after the boys.

“Alright then, where do we want to go?”, she said when the boys had both piled into the battered blue pickup truck. She turned her keys and reversed off of the dusty, gravel driveway, instinctively, heading towards the batting cages, before Tommy piped up from the back seat. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure the circus is in town, if you want to go. Stan said he saw them setting up tents on the fair ground the other day”. 

Teresa and Jimmy muttered in agreement over the sound of the radio. 

The sound of electric guitar crackled through the speakers and the boys began to sing along. Even Teresa joined in at the chorus, “Listen all y'all, it's a sabotage”. Because who doesn’t (at least secretly) love the Beastie Boys?


	2. Chapter 2

“You want to hop out while I find a spot to park?” Teresa said pulling into the dusty, fairground parking lot just as the sun was beginning to set. 

The boys scrambled out of the truck and Teresa handed them each a ten dollar bill before pulling away towards the back of the parking lot. “I’ll meet you inside!” she called through the open window. 

She cranked her steering wheel to the left and drove to the very back of the lot (a habit picked up after crushing her side mirror on a nearby suburban) before hopping out of the car. The air was crisp and cold and Teresa pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. 

Suddenly, a thousand tiny lights flickered on all over the fair ground. They flashed up and down the Ferris wheel and ran along the vendor’s stalls. If Teresa had ever imagined what a circus would look like, it was exactly what she saw stretched out before her. 

As she drew closer to the striped tents, Teresa saw signs advertising fire-breathing dancers and contortionists, trapeze artists and clowns. 

“Reese!”, she turned her head towards the sound. “Teresa!” She spotted Tommy waving at her from outside of a tent-a psychic show, if the silhouette of the crystal ball outside was anything to go by. 

“Jimmy’s already inside”, he said turning towards the tent. Teresa followed, muttering under her breath, “Really Jimmy, a psychic?”

“You lost someone recently, didn’t you Sarah?”, Teresa rolled her eyes at the psychic, before sitting down between her brothers. He couldn’t be much older than her, with curly, blond hair and a solemn look on his face. 

“Can you believe this guy?”, she whispered leaning over to Tommy. 

“Oh!” the women sitting a few rows in front of them-Sarah-exclaimed. 

“How did you know? My grandmother”.

“Yes, your grandmother. I’m sorry for your loss”, the psychic continued, “but she’s with us now. She wants you to know she loves you very much and”, he paused for a second massaging his forehead, “ she wants me to tell you not to worry about that thing you’re worrying about. Does that make any sense to you?”

The woman nodded her head vigorously. 

“It’s ok. You dont have to tell us what it is. Just know that she’s on your side”. 

The woman wiped her eyes and the crowd applauded. 

The psychic stumbled back clutching his chest. “I’m sensing a very strong energy in the room. Can you feel it?” A few middle aged women nodded in agreement. 

“Anne?” the psychic looked around the room. 

“No. I’m looking for a Beatrice or”, he paused to sit down. 

“Is anyone here named after a female saint?”, he looked around the room.

Jimmy grinned slyly before leaning over. “What do you say to that Saint Teresa?” 

The psychic stood up suddenly and walked over to the trio. 

Teresa shot her brother a look that screamed ‘When we get out of here, I will make you wish you were dead’. 

Jimmy just smiled sweetly. 

“I see”, he paused breathing rapidly “there’s a strong field of energy on this side of the room. Is anyone here named after a Catholic saint?” 

Teresa sighed before turning to the boy and waving. “Teresa”, she said. 

“Teresa, of course. I’m sensing a very strong feminine energy around you. Someone trying to communicate with you. A mother figure perhaps?” 

Teresa gritted her teeth before looking up at the psychic. “Yes. My mother”. 

He hummed. “ I’m sensing some negative energy surrounding her passing. An accident?” 

Teresa nodded and the psychic once again began to speak. 

“She wants you to know there was no pain and to tell you she’s proud of the woman you have become”. 

Several of the women around her pulled tissues out of their bags and just like that the psychic was onto his next victim. 

“For the next bit of my show, I’ll need an assistant”. 

The next ten minutes were spent watching card tricks and cold readings. Despite the grandiosity of the show, Teresa zoned out, stuck thinking about her mother and wishing she’d gone to see the clowns instead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, I only know how to write short chapters. I should have the next one uploaded sometime within the next three days. Thanks to everyone who has read so far!


	3. Chapter 3

Patrick could tell by the number of crying women in the room that the show had been good. Two grandmothers, three parents, and a Siamese cat named Petunia had all sent messages to audience members. Patrick gave his usual spiel, ‘she loves you’, ‘he’s found peace’, etc, and as usual the audience lapped it up. Everyone that is, except for the girl. 

Patrick had found, years ago, that the simplest lies were the easiest to believe. Everyone knows someone whose name starts with an A, someone who loved gardening and liked to make people laugh. In relation the psychic business, his father used to say that “too much fancy footwork makes even the best liar trip”. 

Sometimes though, Patrick knew people needed something extra. This girl, Teresa was one of them. 

“Who you going after this time?” Pete said lumbering into his dressing room. 

Patrick was staring at the girl from behind a tent fold, planning his next move. He pointed her out to Pete.

Part of him-a part that grew smaller and smaller the longer he did this- felt a stab of guilt. From the look of her, she was a nice girl. He guessed, from the way she fondly rolled her eyes at her brothers, that she was the oldest of the three. A dead mother meant she was promoted to pseudo-parenthood and he wouldn’t have been surprised if the dad was out of the picture too. No ordinary teenage girl takes her younger brothers to the circus without at least one of her parents there. 

He continued to scan her. Religious obviously, from the way she was fingering the crucifix around her neck(probably a keepsake of the dead mother). She looked smart too, probably heading to college in the fall.

“You sure about this one Patty?” Pete said looking at the girl. “She doesn’t look like much of a spiritualist from what I’m seeing”.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pete”, Patrick said slapping the older man on the back, “Everybody believes if you hit the right nerve”. 

“You know what that is?” Pete drawled. 

“Eh”, Patrick shrugged, stepping out from the tent, “I’ll figure it out”. 

“Reese, come on don’t be such a spoil sport”, Patrick heard one of the younger boys complain. 

“Come on T”, the other boy said laughing. 

“You’ve got money don’t you? Do what you want. I’ll meet you over there when I find something to eat”. 

The two younger boys ran off. To the pie eating contest, Patrick thought.

“You better not puke in my truck”, she called after them as they went. 

Correct, the psychic thought smiling to himself.

Guess that means it’s showtime. 

—————————————-

“Oh, I’m so sorry” Patrick said, stumbling into the girl “I wasn’t watching where I was going”. 

“You’re fine”, she said turning to face him. 

He widened his eyes into an expression of faux surprise. “Teresa, it’s you. I wasn’t sure if I would ever see you again”.

Teresa squinted suspiciously at him. 

“Sorry. That must seem a little odd”, he backtracked, holding up his hands. 

“But your mother, she had another message for you. It’s about your father. The drinking”. 

Patrick hardly saw the fist flying towards his face before it connected with his jaw and he lost his balance. 

“Ow”, he complained after a moment, rubbing his face. 

So much for St. Teresa, he thought. 

“I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry”, Teresa’s voice called from above him. “Are you alright?” 

He paused for a second, surprised. She didn’t look very sorry, but bringing up a girl’s dead mother and alcoholic father in the same sentence may not have been a kind or wise move on his part. 

“Just caught me off guard is all”, he replied, accepting the girl’s help up and brushing the dirt off of his pants. 

“ I take it you’re not a believer”. 

“If by nonbeliever, you mean I think you’re a fraud, then, yeah. I’m not a believer”. Teresa turned away and began to stomp towards the aisles of food stalls lining the outer wall of the fairgrounds. 

Patrick smiled. Despite his best instincts and a throbbing jaw telling him otherwise, he liked Teresa. 

“Hey”, he called after her, “I’m sorry. I knew you weren’t ready to connect to the other side, and I pushed you”.

“Connect with the other side?” Teresa said, smiling. “I know I’m not in on all this circus stuff, but I’m not an idiot”. 

“Never said you were”. he paused to think for a moment. Teresa was right, she wasn’t ‘in’, and in his world it was either trick or be tricked. Still, he liked Teresa and it was only one night. Right?

“Let me make it up to you”. 

“Do I have any choice?”

Patrick grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

“It’s Patrick by the way”, the psychic smiled, giving her a flamboyant bow. 

“I know. I saw your show”, Teresa responded, quirking an eyebrow. 

She still couldn’t decide if she liked him or not. The boy seemed to enjoy walking the line between charming and heartless, and she wouldn’t have been overly surprised if her wallet disappeared before the end of the night. 

“Anywhere good to eat here?” she asked walking towards the center of the fairgrounds. 

“Oh. I have no idea. The circus doesn’t provide food, it’s different in every city”.

She saw him tilt his head, like he was inspecting her, and picked up her pace. 

“Well, I’d like to find something that won’t send me into early heart failure, if you have any ideas”.

“I think I saw some deep fried butter a ways back”, he chuckled. 

“That’s not a thing”, Teresa insisted, disgusted. 

“You’d be surprised. I’m kind of an expert on deep fried foods”. 

“How are you still alive?” She said, looking slightly concerned. 

“I don’t usually eat with my audiences”, he replied with a chuckle, “ and Sam-she’s our elephant trainer- makes sure I eat all my leafy greens”. 

She nodded. The longer she spent with Patrick, the less she thought about what he’d said to her earlier. 

He’s still a fraud, no matter how charming he is, another part of her brain supplied. 

“Pizza, okay?” He interrupted. “I’m afraid you won’t find anything healthier.”

Teresa reached into her pocket for her wallet. “I never claimed to be a Dr.Atkins disciple”,she said, rolling her eyes. “I’d just prefer not consume anything remotely close to”, she looked around for a good example, “a deep fried, peanut butter stuffed pickle”.

Patrick grinned goofily. “Two slices of pepperoni then”, he said to the cashier. 

“How do you know I didn’t want cheese?”, she said, a little put out. 

“Didn’t you see the show”, he replied innocently. 

“Don’t pull that on me”, she said, raising her. “And”, she continued. “I can pay for my own damn pizza”.

Patrick raised one hand defensively, the other already shoving pizza into his mouth. “You said you’d let me make it up to you”, he said, mouth still full. “Plus, the cat lady gave me a little something extra after the show”. 

Teresa huffed. 

“What?”, he said sensitively. 

She sped up towards the pie eating contest, not unwrapping her pizza from its aluminum packaging. 

“Teresa!”, he nervously called again. He sped up to match her pace. 

“Are you not going to eat?”

She sighed before turning around. “Sorry if I don’t feel great, receiving something you basically stole from that poor old woman”.

He had just opened his mouth to say something when Teresa heard her name and turned around. Tommy and Jimmy, both covered in pie were grinning triumphantly, a gold medal around both of their necks. 

“This guy bothering you?”, Tommy said, suddenly sober. She had to stop herself from laughing at the sight of her kid brothers, faces covered with cherry filling, jumping to her defense. 

“I certainly hope not”, Patrick said, and whatever he had been saying was replaced with his usual charming mask. 

“Patrick Jane”, he said reaching his hand out to the boys. 

Jimmy shook it, sharing a confused look with his brother. “Ain’t you that psychic from earlier?” 

“That’s me”, he said, running a hand through his blond curls. 

“I’ll be honest with you”, Tommy said. “I’m surprised she hasn’t hit you yet”. 

Teresa blushed, Patrick just grinned and tapped his jaw. “She did! Right here”. 

Teresa thought he sounded a little too excited to recount the tale and frowned, but the boys just laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. 

Kill me now, Teresa thought to herself, rolling her eyes towards the sky. 

————————————————

The boys insisted on spending the next hour trying their luck bobbing for apples and shooting metal ducks. All the while, Patrick whispered advice to them. 

“Steve always rigs his games. Cast your line a little to the right”

From the way some of the vendors looked at him, Teresa wondered if he was breaking some sacred, carnie code, associating with outsiders. Still, her brothers already adored him and as the night wore on, she thought less and less about his questionable career. 

She even almost said yes when, at the end of the night, he asked them to come back tomorrow. Instead she said, “I have to work”. 

“No you don’t”, the psychic said looking straight into her eyes. 

“No she doesn’t” the boys agreed in unison. 

Traitors. 

“Can we come Teresa? Please”. Jimmy begged. 

“We’ll see” is what she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew they would be back. 

I can’t believe this, she thought as they waved goodbye to Patrick Jane, psychic extraordinaire, and strolled back towards the parking lot. I’m actually going to do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’ll probably take me a few days to upload the next chapter. I have a few ideas to explore before writing anything solid. Thanks again to everyone who has read or left kudos!


	5. Chapter 5

That night, Teresa slept soundly, dreaming the same dream she had dreamt a thousand times before- the one that had been stuck on repeat since her mother’s death. It played out like a scene from a movie. 

She woke up to the smell of pancakes burning in the kitchen downstairs. 

“Really, sweetheart? Just let me help”, Teresa heard as she padded down the stairs. Her mother was seated in a rocking chair, as her father burned the breakfast. 

**In real life, Teresa didn’t recall her family ever owning such a chair, but there it was every time. Jane would probably have some deep, pseudo-spiritual answer to this, she thought when she really woke up the next morning, irritated that the psychic had already wormed his way into her subconscious.**

Other than that that chair though, the dream living room was exactly as she remembered her home nine years ago, full of light and teeming with her mother’s influence. There was a peace lily blooming in the kitchen (now dead) and Martha Stewart magazines cluttering the coffee table(now stashed away in a box in the attic).  
Her father stood at the counter pouring pancake batter over a griddle and Teresa stopped on the last step, feeling like a voyeur to her parent’s display of domesticity. 

“Usually I would be more than happy to accept your assistance, but there are rules about that sort of thing”, he said.

Her mother hummed in amusement and stood up. “And what rules would those be exactly?” She leaned up against the counter.

“Oh you know, birthday code and all that”.

She reached across the counter and swept a piece of hair out of his eyes.  
“Sounds very serious. I’d better let you do your job”.  
It was always at this point that they snapped out of their reverie to see Teresa standing helplessly on the final step. 

“Oh thank goodness you’re up. Come help me with this. I can never tell how long to cook pancakes for”. Her father would plead.

“Good morning sweetie”, her mother would say, reaching out a hand to her daughter as she laughed at her father’s antics.  
The dream always cut off there, before she could feel the warmth of her mother’s hand in hers. It reminded Teresa of watching a film and having the power shut off, right as it reached its climax. She tried to imagine what words she said next, but every alternate ending her brain supplied was disappointing. Better to live in reality, she thought.  
Teresa’s reality, she quickly remembered, was a morning spent cleaning up after the mess her father had made the night before.  
She looked over at her alarm clock, checking the time. The boys wouldn’t be up for another few hours. I wonder if Stan ever came home, she thought.

She slipped out of bed, creeping down the stairs. She stepped over the 3rd and twelfth step, and landed softly on the floor below. It would have killed her if the boys had woken up to see the potential disaster zone their father had created.

Teresa had lived in the house since she was a toddler. She was fluent in its creaks and sighs, the bang the air conditioner made when someone turned it on, and the faint pop of the light switches. It wasn’t hard to avoid detection.

Teresa sighed in relief as she walked into the living room. Her father had already left for work and the room was fairly clean. There was an empty Jack Daniels bottle next to his chair and a few whiskey-soaked paper towels on the table. Teresa was relieved. No stains and no broken glass.  
She picked up the bottle and slipped out the back to throw it in the dumpster.  
Stan was there when she came back inside.  
“You can’t take care of us for the rest of your life you know”, he said, startling her. “It’s not like we don’t know what Dad does when we aren’t here. We aren’t stupid.”

No, Teresa thought, they weren’t. They had come home, just as often as her, to a father slurring obscenities or crying over the toilet. They’d seen the holes he’d punched in the wall and the shards of broken glass stuck in the carpet. She didn’t know why she even bothered to hide his empty bottles anymore. 

“Stan”, she sighed.

“We can take care of ourselves”, he said. “I’m almost eighteen, Reese, I know what’s going on”.

“But you shouldn’t have to”, she said despairingly.

“Reese”, he said reaching out to wrap his arm around her shoulder. “You’re going to college. You can’t pretend that you’ll always be here”.

“I’m not going to college”, she said grimly.

“What?”, he said, shocked.

“Of course you are! I’ve seen the acceptance letters. You already have a dorm room! Geez Teresa- you can’t just say stuff like that!”

“I mean it!”, she said, suddenly angry. “I’m not leaving you here”.

“I’m a year younger than you. You can’t just throw away your life pretending to be our mom!”

“Two years”, Teresa corrected.

“I turn eighteen in two weeks”, Stan’s voice rose.

She started to say something when she heard a floorboard creak.

“We’ll talk about this later”, she said expecting the boys the come running down the stairs at any moment.

“You planning on ditching us for your girlfriend again tonight?” The words come out too biting for what she’d meant to be a joke.

“I don’t know”, Stan said, still angry, as Tommy sleepily made his way down the stairs. “And I’m not letting you drop this. We will be talking about this later”.

She ignored him, focusing her attention on her other brother instead.

“You want eggs? I was planning on whipping some up”. 

We’re not talking about this, was what she screamed internally at Stan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to upload. I haven’t had much time to write. Now that I’ve finally written it though, I’ve got a much clearer idea of what I want to say in the next few chapters. As always, comments are appreciated.


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